


5 times Peter fuelled Stiles' magic + 1 time he found out

by lot



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha!Peter, Episode Related, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Minor Character(s), Not exact same plot though, Slight Violence, Stiles is underage but no sex is mentioned, Then non-Alpha!Peter, slightly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lot/pseuds/lot
Summary: 5 times Peter fuelled Stiles' magic + 1 time he found outor The one where Peter and Stiles have been in love since the beginning.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!
> 
> This is a Steter Secret Santa Gift for wasgolden on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy this, and have a very Merry Christmas!
> 
> For everyone else, this is my first fic and it hasn't been edited by someone else, so please be kind. Criticism is very welcome!!
> 
> Thank you very much.
> 
> I hope you enjoy x

Stiles knew him before.

He was the Sheriff’s son, knew almost everyone in town (and was proud of it), so the name Peter Hale wasn’t new. He knew of the fire, had seen the orange flames and felt the thick smoke in his lungs before his father had gotten the call, as if he had been there. Sometimes he still dreams that he was. Months later, before his mother fell ill, it was found that his magic had been tied to the burnt home, and had given him warning of the fire moments before it happened. If only he hadn’t been newly eleven, maybe he would have discovered it before it got too bad.

But he had never seen Peter before. Even though he knew his name, knew his story - he had never matched a face to any of it. Stiles saw stark blue eyes, soft fur, tan skin. But, nothing more. No full picture.

Due to all of this, and all the curiosity and mischief Stiles’ magic was made of, it was with no surprise that he found himself stumbling into Peter’s hospital room one day when trying to find his mother’s. She was sick and bed-ridden, and Stiles was eleven and bad at his left and rights. He stood in the doorway, young eyes wide, looking at the still man in front of him. He felt no hesitation when he began walking in, nothing that made him want to turn and run the other way. When he saw the man, saw his unblinking blue eyes, he just knew that it was Peter Hale that was sat comatose in a blue hospital gown opposite him. There was nothing about that man that could make him turn the other way.

So instead of running, Stiles took a seat next to the steel wheelchair, eyebrow raised at the scars that covered the face in front of his. He checked around the room, made sure no one was walking past the doorway, and reached up to touch the biggest scar, which was littered all the way across Peter’s left cheek. A hiss was pulled from his lips when his fingers made contact, as if he was feeling the pain himself, and his magic tugged at his insides. It was almost burning. He quickly drew his hand away, settling for a less scarred hand in his. His heart pumped along with the faint buzz of the hospital room, and he felt relaxed.

Stiles sat for several minutes next to Peter. He felt no need for words. He heard the hospital continue around him, watched nurses and doctors rush around outside, but didn’t let go of the older man’s hand. When it was time, he pulled his hand away from the wolf and stood up. Feet approaching the door, he sent one last look back at Peter, before ducking his head out of the room. The young boy began playing with the edges of his hoodie’s sleeves as a nurse hurried past, eyes darting around the hallway, before making a run for it.

His father would be worried, after all.

 

The next time Peter isn’t so lifeless. In fact, he black-mails Stiles with an injured Lydia and flashing dark red Alpha-eyes into a parking lot to guess Scott’s computer password. All in one night. And Prom Night, at that. Stiles is shaking, half out of cold and half out of fear, and his fingers are stumbling over the laptop keys. But Stiles isn’t scared of Peter, no matter how much the wolf wants to shine his eyes at the him.

He takes a moment to look up at the Alpha. Sees his slicked back hair, bright blue eyes, tan skin. Looks at the black jacket, the dress shirt, the bloody claws. His heart thumps as his fingers work. Over-all, Scott is as predictable as cold weather in December, or that Stiles’ dad will try sneak a burger in during work hours, and his username and password are both Allison. Peter sends him a look, which Stiles rebounds back at him. “Still want him in your pack?” He snaps, and Peter chuckles.

Once logged in, they pull Derek’s location from the computer, and Peter has everything he came for. He steps back from Stiles, looking him up and down. Peter then closes the space between them and grabs his arm, placing it towards his fangs, tauntingly. He offers the bite, and Stiles wants it. He does, oh so badly. Especially if it’s from Peter Hale. But it messes with magic, changes the way Stiles’ whole body and mind would function. Any user would know. So he declines. His heart _jumps._

“I see, I see,” Peter laughs, hand still tight around Stiles’ forearm. It feels safe, like it did in the hospital. Stiles feels relaxed, like he could sit here for hours with nothing but Peter Hale grabbing onto his arm. His heart would keep pumping, his magic would keep pulling. When the Alpha pulls away, it almost hurts.

The word emissary is mumbled behind fangs, into the empty carpark. It’s blown away as fast as the wind can carry it.

 

Peter is out of control. Heck, even Derek knows it. He’s killed about five campers, along with any innocent bystanders and basically terrified the whole town in under just six days. So, naturally, Stiles is cradling a Molotov cocktail (thanks to Lydia) in each hand, searching for his Big Bad Alpha by the Hale house, in the middle of the night. He never said it was a good plan, okay? Peter needed to be stopped, no matter how much it hurt for Stiles to put him down. They are all here - Lydia, Scott, Allison, Chris, Derek, hell, even Jackson and Allison’s crazy aunt. But Stiles can’t seem to pay attention to any of them, even with all the bickering and snark that is going on behind him.

His whole body is buzzing. Even standing still, it still continues to bump and churn and hurt. He hasn’t visited the Hale house since a few months after the fire, and it makes his insides boil. He feels like he’s going to explode. His magic is so unruly - has been since, well, _forever_ \- but today it seems like it is so much worse.

Suddenly, Stiles feels a large gush of wind behind him, and out from behind the thick trees, comes Peter Hale in all his Alpha gory. He is so large Stiles is looking up at him, looking up at his black fur so unlike what Stiles always saw in his dreams, seeing the familiar red eyes and shiny fangs. Stiles has only seen him like this once, in the school. It never stops him from shivering.

Then, Peter roars. Out of his thoughts Stiles goes, and into one clawed hand of Peter’s, flung up into the cold air with the Alpha. Stiles is still shaking, but this time, from the burn that runs through his veins when Peter touches him. Even in wolf-form, _especially_ in wolf-form, his magic feeds from Peter. He can’t stop it, doesn’t even want too.

All Stiles hears is screaming. One of Allison’s arrows shoots into Peter’s shoulders, one of Chris’ bullets are in his thigh, and Derek has been attempting to slash Peter’s legs and make him fall for the last couple of minutes. But Stiles feels safe. Which is crazy. Which is something he should definitely not be feeling when he’s seven feet high in the air and hanging from a wolf’s hand. It takes them ten minutes to bring Peter down, due to the loss of two of Lydia’s cocktails (Stiles’ fault) and it takes another four to get Stiles away from the Alpha.

“I could help you control it!” Peter shrieks, once Derek has him on the ground. His eyes lock onto Stiles’. He shakes his head, and Stiles looks away just as Derek slashes Peter’s throat, as blood splashes onto grass, as Derek becomes the Alpha.

“You already do.” He says to Peter’s body once everyone is gone, before turning and walking back to his bright blue jeep.

 

When Peter shows up on his doorstep, barely three weeks since he had his throat slashed, it doesn’t surprise Stiles that much. Stiles’ lets him in, tells him the Sheriff is working, and offers him a cup of coffee. They sit down at the kitchen table, and stare at each other for what seems like fifteen minutes before either of them speaks.

“Welcome back,” Stiles starts, words muffled over the top of his coffee mug, “Although I couldn’t imagine you would stay dead for long.” Peter smirks at him.

“I guess you were right, then. Three weeks isn’t long at all.” Peter confirms, and takes a sip of his hot drink, while Stiles plays with the handle of his. He looks away from the man in front of him before he starts speaking again.

“It was long enough.” And Stiles would know. His bones haven’t stopped rattling since Peter left. He was always humming, always bubbling, always boiling. He was always on edge. Even now, across from Peter, it has only simmered down a small bit. He was itching to get a hand on the wolf, to have a hold on what was inside him. As if he read the teenager’s mind, Peter grabs Stiles hand and places it on his own forearm. For the first time since he saw the boy last, Peter smiles. And Stiles smiles back.

That’s all the teenager has ever needed.

-

They’re standing by the front door, working around each other as they always have. Peter has been there for an hour already and is on his way to leave. Stiles is grasping Peter’s coat in his hand, from where he got it off the hanger, and his other is shaking. Peter grabs his coat when Stiles offers it to him, and holds the teenager’s shaking hand in his. He pulls the boy closer, into his chest. Stiles looks up at him, with wide eyes, like the first time, and then they go soft. The teenager beams at him. The shiver, the burn runs through Stiles again.

“Thank you for coming.” Stiles says, breathlessly. Peter smiles, and presses his lips to the teenager’s softly. They kiss for a moment, before Peter pulls away.

“Anytime.” The wolf answers with a smirk, and disappears out the door.

 

They were fighting faeries. Yes, faeries. ( _Freaking_ werewolves.) They were spread out across the preserve, all split up with the tiny but vicious creatures between each of them. Stiles lay, drained, head slumped against the tree. He could see Derek to his right, surrounded by them, and Scott, in front of him, covering Allison as she shot them down with arrows Stiles had enchanted previously. He wanted to help, he wanted to - but he could barley stand. He had used all the magic he could, but yet it was still building to a painful pressure inside him. The buzzing was almost deafening. It _hurt._

He looked up at the sky. So calm compared to what was happening below it. Even though it was spinning, and Stiles had to fight to keep his eyes open to see it, it was beautiful. He wondered where Lydia was, where Chris and Peter were fighting. He turned his head, reaching it further to see. He groaned when he realised he couldn’t.

He was zoning in and out, he knew. Time was blending together and everything was out of order. His hands were shaking in front of his eyes and his legs no longer felt like they were connected to his body. He didn’t know how long it had been before Peter sprinting towards him, with beta-shift features clear on his face. He reached a hand out, which Peter gripped once he made it to Stiles.

“What are you doing?!” He yelled in the teenagers ear, while yanking him up by the arm he was holding. Peter put the teenager's arm across his shoulders and started making their way towards a place deemed safer for the both of them. Stiles could finally breathe again. He took large gulps of the clear air around him, before grasping the older man’s shoulder tighter. His magic begun pulsing inside him, burning in the way it always did around the wolf.

“Peter,” Stiles mumured. Peter looked back at the teenager, with worried eyes. _What a sight,_ Stiles stops to think.

“I thought you were dead. Slumped against the tree like that. You idiot.” Peter was snapping his teeth with his words, and he stopped mid-stride to push Stiles up against a nearby tree. He had a hand at the teenager’s shoulder, and one flat above his head. He looked around quickly for danger, before speaking again in a quiet tone, “Don’t do it again.” Stiles was nodding. Pushing his lips against Peter’s.

He pulled away soon after to look at his hands. They were burning like they never have had before…. They were shining purple.

“You need to get out of here.” Stiles warns, “I’m going to explode.” Peter was nodding, and pushing his lips back onto Stiles’ in another bruising kiss.

And then he was running off.

 

+1

They were sitting on Derek’s fold out couch, a small distance away from each other. Peter is holding a book in his hands, turning pages every couple of minutes, and Stiles is busying himself with Math homework, fingers tapping against the table as he worked. They had been sitting like this for almost an hour, and Stiles was now struggling to keep still. He was approaching the last page of his booklet, but felt as if he couldn’t sit in this position for one minute more.

“That’s it!” He exclaimed, jumping from his position to his feet, fumbling in the process. Peter just smirked into his book, not even lifting his eyes. Stiles huffed at him, sticking his bottom lip out. The younger boy dropped his pencil on top of the booklet, and begun pacing.

“You know what’s stupid? Math. Math is ridiculous! I can’t believe I’ve been doing it for nearly thirteen years! It is hard and takes up time and I hate it.” The teenager threw himself back onto the couch mid-pace, closer to Peter this time, and spread out like a star-fish. “So, I’m calling a break.” He tried to steal the book Peter was reading from the older man’s hands, but the wolf was faster. Stiles pouted and Peter just sent him a wolfish grin.

“Nearly done.” Peter teases, hitting the book over the teenager’s head, before putting a bookmark in and placing it on the table in front of where they were sitting. Once his hands were free, he grabs Stiles by the waist and pulls him in. The teenager squawks and shrieks but lets himself be pushed into the older man’s lap. Peter’s fingers send a burning sensation wherever they touch skin, making Stiles shiver.

“I guess I just make you feel that kind of way, huh?” Peter teases, biting softly at the earlobe of Stiles’ that was closest to his mouth. His fingers go searching for more skin, and rest on the teenager’s hips, ticking the bones there softly. Stiles laughs, and attempts to swat the wolf’s hands away, but there’s no use.

He slumps back against Peter’s chest, disagreeing, “Nuh uh. You make my magic feel that kind of way, Big Bad. You’re my power station.” Even though it's said in a joking tone, Peter hears no skip of Stiles' heart. As if to prove this, his magic thrums inside him, almost violently. Stiles closes his eyes, relaxed against Peter’s warm chest.

After a few minutes of silence, which is very odd for the two, the teenager turns to check on the man behind him. He finds Peter, looking as star-struck as ever, stumbling over his words.

“All this time?” The wolf finally asks.

“All this time.” With that answer, Peter grabs Stiles face roughly and brings their lips together.

 

Everything in him goes silent. As usual.

 

 

~ fin


End file.
